


well, your coffee's on the house

by potato_writes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Sharing a Bed, this is just very tropey fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potato_writes/pseuds/potato_writes
Summary: Five times Jaime flirted with Brienne when he should have been working, and one time she turned the tables back on him.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 38
Kudos: 115
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange 2020





	well, your coffee's on the house

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tall_wolf_of_tarth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tall_wolf_of_tarth/gifts).



> hey look! it turns out I CAN write tropes and not just extremely niche stories that only appeal to me!
> 
> be warned: I know nothing about owning coffee shops, so forgive me for my errors if you do happen to know about it or work in a cafe. I've also never written smut before, but this year has been weird enough so I'm just gonna embrace this! 
> 
> this ended up far longer than I planned on it being but it was very chill and a lot of fun to write. also the title is from in the heights for Reasons. thank you for reading, enjoy the holidays if you are celebrating, and enjoy the remainder of the year if you aren't!

**I** : 

Jaime’s not even supposed to be at work the day he meets Brienne. 

The perks of owning your own cafe include being able to choose your hours so they suit your lifestyle, which is why he almost never works the early morning rush. But Pia had called in the night before with a truly horrific head cold, and most of his other employees are students who’ll be half asleep if they manage to drag themselves out of bed early enough to cover her shift, which is why he’s here at seven in the godsdamn morning, greeting customers at the till while poor cousin Cleos tries to keep up as best he can with the endless stream of coffees and teas and drinks with obscenely long names that often leave Jaime scratching his head at how anyone can remember that order consistently.

When the early morning rush finally begins to die down, he sends Cleos into the back to double-check the inventory and is flicking through a handful of receipts at the till when the sound of footsteps alert him to the approach of a customer, and he looks up to see the tallest woman he’s ever met approaching the till, her pale blonde head half bent as she types something out on her phone before she glances up to meet his gaze before freezing in place, impossibly blue eyes going wide.

Here’s the thing: Jaime knows he’s attractive. He’s not blind, and he’s had enough people throw themselves at him over the years to know he fits pretty well into most people’s types. But he made a promise to himself when he first opened the cafe that he wouldn’t flirt with customers or use his looks to encourage them to return the way his father had told him he’d have to with a derisive snort the one time he’d come by to see what his erstwhile eldest son was doing now that he’d left the family business behind. And he’s never broken that promise in the nearly four years he’s been doing this—not until now, that is.

He smiles at his latest customer, not with his usually pasted-on customer service smile he tends to wear whenever he takes a shift, but a real smile, the kind he saves for his friends and the few family members he still speaks to. “Welcome to Goldenhand Coffee House,” he says, letting his voice drop a little lower than he normally would when greeting customers. “What can I get for you today?”

She doesn’t answer for a long moment, only shaking herself out of whatever reverie she’s fallen into when he tilts his head to the side in a distinctly questioning gesture. “Oh! Yes,” she mumbles, glancing up at the menu as if she’s startled to find herself in a cafe. “Sorry, I got...I got distracted by something. Could I get a large americano, please?”

“Of course,” he tells her, about to turn around and pass the order along to Cleos when he remembers his cousin’s in the back room, likely fretting over inventory even though Jaime already knows everything’s fine and only sent him back there so he could have a few moments without his cousin nervously hovering over his shoulder. It won’t be any trouble to make this woman’s drink himself, since it’s not that complex and he’d be a truly terrible barista if he didn’t know how to make a basic americano. Besides, this way he can maneuver things so that their fingers brush when he hands over the drink, creating that first spark between them that’s a sign of—alright, he’s been watching _way_ too many regency films lately. “Can I get a name for your order, if you don’t mind?”

“Brienne,” she tells him quietly, biting down on her lip and avoiding his gaze. “My name’s Brienne.”

His grin at that is decidedly _not_ work appropriate, but he’s not about to fire himself anytime soon so that won’t pose too many problems. “Alright, _Brienne_ ,” he purrs, dragging out her name and watching delightedly as her cheeks turn bright red. “Will that be everything for you today?”

She nods quickly, fumbling in her purse for her wallet as he taps on the screen before him to input her order into the system and grabbing a cup from the stack by the counter. As she finishes paying, he darts around, preparing her drink while shooting her the occasional smile and watching as her flush deepens.

“Do you come here often?” he asks after a moment, figuring it’s alright to make conversation since no one else is around—well, there’s Cleos, but he doesn’t really count. 

Brienne nods again, watching a little too closely as he flicks a lever on a machine. “I come in most mornings before work. You’re not normally here, though.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, “but Pia’s sick, and I didn’t want to ask anyone else to cover her shift on such short notice. It’s not too bad, though. Cleos does most of the hard work, and I get to meet you.”

It’s ridiculously sappy, and his brother would laugh for hours if he knew what Jaime had just said, but it’s enough to make Brienne blush again as she turns her head away from him and starts talking to the wall instead. “You’re the owner, then? Since you mentioned asking people to cover shifts.”

“I’m the owner, yeah.” He extends his left hand to her over the counter, and she shakes it quickly before pulling back and blushing bright red. “Jaime Lannister, at your service.”

“Brienne,” she mumbles, glancing down at her shoes. “Brienne Tarth. I work at the Baratheon Industries building a couple blocks away.”

Jaime manages not to wince at the sound of his brother-in-law’s surname—only because he doesn’t think Brienne would take very kindly to the gesture. “What kind of work do you do? Office staff, management, HR…”

“I’m on Renly’s team,” she tells him, and his shoulders slump in relief on her behalf. Renly’s the least disagreeable of the Baratheon brothers—though this hasn’t stopped Jaime from fighting with him before—and his team actually does interesting design work instead of fucking taxes or something like that. Not that Jaime wants to insult people who actually like doing taxes. He’s just not one of them. “We do a lot of design for the company, and it’s a pretty great group to work with. I started off in finance for a while, but that wasn’t nearly as fun.”

“Shame,” Jaime says distractedly as he tries to find where Cleos moved the lids to this time. “I was hoping you could do my finance stuff for me.”

Brienne laughs as he finally grabs a lid and hands her drink over, their fingers brushing exactly as he’d hoped for earlier. “Is that your least favourite part of being a business owner?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he purrs, leaning over the counter and looking up at her in a manner he _hopes_ is seductive. It could easily look very, very stupid, though at least Cleos isn’t likely to call him out on looking like an absolute fool while trying to hit on a woman. “But it’s better than helping my father commit tax fraud, and I actually don’t mind most of the other aspects of my job.”

She smiles at him again, taking a sip of her coffee as she does. “Well, I have to head out, but it was nice meeting you, Jaime. Thank you for the coffee!”

“Anytime,” he calls after her as she heads for the door, tossing him one last grin over her shoulder. It’s not the wisest response—it’s literally his job to provide customers with coffee or tea or whatever sugary abomination Pia’s persuaded him to add to the menu this time—but she doesn’t seem offended, unlike Cleos, who’s made his way out of the back and is sending Jaime a horrified look.

“You _know_ you’re not supposed to flirt with customers,” his cousin says in his weak little voice, shuffling from side to side. “It’s in the employee manual that _you_ made for us. ‘Do not flirt with or offer favours to customers.’ Rule 13, section 2.”

Jaime rolls his eyes and turns away from his cousin without bothering to answer. He’s the owner, he doesn’t have to stick to the same rules as his employees—which isn’t an idea he’s ever going to put into practice beyond this one occasion. Besides, Brienne isn’t just a customer. Or she won’t be, if Jaime gets his way.

Which he will. He’s sure of it. He may not have listened to many of his father’s lessons, but he did hear enough about how ‘Lannisters never settle for less than what they deserve’ to know for a fact that—as long as Brienne’s willing—they’ll be so much more than employee and customer before the year is out.

 **II** : 

Pia doesn’t say anything when Jaime asks her if she’s willing to swap shifts with him, though her brow rises so high he’s briefly worried it’s going to disappear into her hairline. He thinks briefly that he should be offended by her obvious disbelief, but he’s grumbled enough about early mornings in front of his employees by now that they’re well aware of his hatred for rising before ten am. 

Brienne only ever comes by during the morning, though, if Cleos and her own proclamation are to be trusted. And perhaps it’s not the most ethical thing, to swap shifts just so he can see a particular customer again, but it’s been an age since the last time he was this interested in someone, and he’s not about to pass up the opportunity to make her flush that bright red that’s been lingering in his dreams ever since their morning encounter.

He doesn’t see Brienne again for a week, which is the amount of time it takes him to rearrange the shifts so that he’ll be working when she comes in—according to Cleos, anyways, who’s not the most observant of Jaime’s employees despite being a fairly reliable worker. It turns out his cousin is correct for once, however, because it’s precisely six minutes to eight when Brienne walks in the door and meets his gaze with a tentative smile.

She’s not alone this time. Two young women stand on either side of her, one a tall redhead giggling into the palm of her hand, the other a shorter brunette who looks him up and down once before turning to Brienne and whispering something that makes her turn red. They accompany her up to the counter, hovering to the side while she comes over to stand in front of him, ducking her head down as he smiles at her.

“Hello,” he says, because despite his less-than-professional behaviour the last time they met, he _is_ going to do his best to ensure all his customers leave the cafe satisfied. “What can I get for you today?”

He’s tempted to ask if she wants the same thing as last time, but it would probably—definitely—be weird for him to remember her coffee order after only hearing it once. And she _did_ bring two friends with her, who probably want to order something as well—if they ever stop muttering in each other’s ears and laughing loudly, that is.

Brienne shoots a quick glance over at her friends, who immediately become very interested in perusing the menu he’d made Cleos carefully write out on the chalkboard that morning, before she turns back to him, her blush beginning to creep down her neck. “I’ll get the same as last week,” she mumbles, before biting down on her lip and lowering her head again. “Sorry, you probably don’t remember…”

“No, it’s all good,” he tells her with a smile, barely resisting the temptation to reach across the counter and take her hand in his. “I remember just fine. Large americano, right?”

She nods before shuffling to the side so her friends can place their own orders, which means Jaime’s able to clearly see as the brunette raises a meaningful eyebrow at him before ordering her own drink as well as one for the redhead woman at her side. He’s much brusquer with Brienne’s friends than he is with Brienne herself—not enough to earn him a nervous cough from Cleos, but enough that all three women seem to be aware of it. They don’t seem too offended, although Brienne’s brow furrows as she glances between him and her grinning friends.

When he asks for their names so he can scrawl them on the sides of their cups, the redhead introduces herself as Sansa, while the brunette tells him her name is Margaery with a smirk on her lips that could mean anything or nothing at all. He doesn’t bother trying to read into it, and, well, at least she’s not trying to hit on him, so there’s no point in trying.

The three women end up whispering together as he gives two of the cups to Cleos and takes the third so he can make Brienne’s drink himself, which means he can’t talk to Brienne again. He’s not disappointed about it, necessarily—they had a good conversation last week, that should be enough to satisfy him—but he would have liked to talk to her a little more, to get to know her a little better. That’s all it is. He’s not jealous of how her friends are able to monopolize her time, of how they’re able to draw out that blush through their whispered words. Not at all.

It’s his definite lack of jealousy about not getting to talk to Brienne that leads him to reach back and grab his pen from where he’d left it by the till, to scrawl something on the side of the cup right under where he’d written her name. He’s briefly tempted to throw the pen at his cousin’s head and see how he reacts, but that’d draw attention to what he’s just done, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of Brienne thinking lowly of him because of some childish antic.

When he finishes Brienne’s drink, he hands it to her with a quick wink and watches with delight as she flushes and takes it before hurrying over to rejoin her friends. He should go back to the front counter now—another customer has just come in, and Cleos is notorious for messing up the till every time he tries to use it so it’ll be up to him to deal with that—but he lingers for a moment, just long enough to see her catch sight of what he’s written on her cup. Her eyes go wide, and then she smiles, one finger reaching out to trace the dark ink before she returns to her conversation as though nothing has happened.

He smiles in return, though she doesn’t see it, and hurries over to the till, all the while feeling as if he’s walking on air. Even Cleos’s grumbling won’t be enough to ruin his good mood, not this time.

His break doesn’t come for another hour, but once the clock strikes nine he scrambles to the back and grabs his phone before grinning broadly down at it and the text waiting for him.

 **Unknown Number:** Hey, this is Brienne. From the coffee shop? You wrote your number on my coffee?

He smiles again, and begins to tap out a response, his heart leaping with delight at the sight of Brienne’s name, sent from her fingers to his phone. This is more than worth enduring his cousin’s fretting, even if he does end up having to deal with that for the rest of his life. Which he wouldn’t mind all that much, so long as it means Brienne sticks around for however long she’s willing to stay.

 **III** : 

When Brienne walks into the cafe at the same time as always, Jaime immediately straightens from where he’s slouching behind the counter to shoot a broad grin in her direction. Cleos offers a tentative cough from where he’s hunched over by the coffee machines, but Jaime’s grown used to ignoring his cousin by now, so he keeps his attention fixed on Brienne—and the plain, surly looking man walking in alongside her.

The sight has Jaime’s heart plummeting in his chest, and his smile nearly drops before he hastily rearranges his face into his standard customer service grin. He doesn’t _think_ they’re together—they’re not walking close enough together, Brienne looks mildly annoyed as the man prattles on about something or other, and she’s far too interesting to waste her time with the world’s dullest man—but he can’t be certain, and it’s the uncertainty that makes his voice flat and disinterested when he greets them at the till.

Brienne’s companion doesn’t notice at all; he’s too busy staring at the menu and complaining about the lack of a certain specialty drink—which actually is on the menu, but plain-white-bread man clearly can’t read all that well. She seems to catch that something’s wrong, though, because she frowns at him before ordering her standard large americano.

For some reason, this sets her companion off, and he begins ranting about disappointing coffee, and how he can’t believe Brienne took him _here_ of all places, and that he _hates_ pretentious cafes like this one where the owners think that they’re superior because they get _fair trade_ coffee beans—which Jaime takes personal offense to, because he may be a Lannister but he’s not _pretentious_...anymore. She’s now looking extremely annoyed with her—friend? Coworker? Partner?—which makes Jaime feel much better about turning to her and saying, “Just for having to deal with this guy, your coffee’s on me today.”

She opens her mouth, likely about to protest and tell him _no, that’s not necessary, I can pay for it_ , but then her whatever-the-fuck-he-is starts demanding that Jaime provide _his_ coffee for free too, because it’s _only fair_ and a whole heap of other bullshit, until even _Cleos_ is beginning to look tempted to punch this dickbag. And Cleos actually has strong beliefs about _not_ punching customers in the face.

Then the guy says something about how his girlfriend shouldn’t get free coffee unless his drink is free too, and Jaime’s heart abruptly decides to relocate to somewhere near his feet. Of course. _Of course_ he meets the perfect woman, who’s funny and clever and kind and doesn’t mind when he rambles for hours via text about nothing at all and has the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, only to learn she’s already taken. He’s not sure _why_ , exactly, she’s with the unsalted-butter man, but at least the guy has enough sense to recognize what a gem he’s found in Brienne. It’s the only thing he’ll concede to the asshole who’s _still_ ranting about the free coffee thing. 

He’s still making the man pay for his own coffee, though. The fucker has to pay for calling Jaime _pretentious_ earlier. He’s _not_ pretentious. He just happens to have a refined taste.

But then Brienne whirls on Mr. Unseasoned Chicken Breast with an incredulous expression on her face, and Jaime’s heart suddenly realizes it’d rather reside in his chest after all. “Your _girlfriend_?” she demands, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring down at stale saltine cracker man with such a fierce expression on her face that Jaime has to shift closer to the counter to hide his growing interest in the proceedings before him. “I don’t recall ever agreeing to _that_ , Hyle.”

Hyle—which is a perfectly dull name for such a dull man—looks affronted even as he takes a slight step backwards. “I don’t get why you’re so upset about this,” he grumbles. “We’ve been going on dates for a while now.”

“No, we have _not_ ,” she snaps, vehemently enough to send Hyle back another step. “I explicitly said I would only come with you if you _didn’t_ keep trying to hit on me after I told you to stop. Not once did I agree to any _dates_ , and if I’d known you were going to call them dates I would have just stayed home. Now shut up, pay for your coffee, and leave me alone unless you want me to report you to HR for the second time in a month.”

Jaime lets out a low whistle as Hyle’s shoulders hunch and he nods, still looking like he wants to grumble but keeping his mouth shut as he pays. He does shoot a dark look at Jaime in the process, but Jaime’s still buoyant with the knowledge that Brienne _isn’t_ dating this miserable little man and can’t be bothered to care. 

He does make a point of calling him Kyle when his order’s ready, though. It earns him another glare, this time from both Hyle and Cleos. Brienne smiles at him when she comes to collect her own order, mouthing _thank you_ before she turns to Hyle with another sharp look and sends him scurrying out the door ahead of her, and that’s what carries Jaime through the rest of the morning, even when he has to continue politely informing a furious customer that no, they don’t serve a certain coffee brand, and he won’t be bringing it in for that one particular person—even more so now that they’ve yelled at him and stormed out shouting about how they’ll personally ensure he’s put out of business.

It could be residual joy from fucking with Hyle, too. He took a _lot_ of enjoyment from seeing the man’s face twist in anger when his name was called incorrectly.

Brienne texts him that afternoon once she gets off work, apologizing for her colleague’s rudeness that morning, and they end up chatting into late evening. In that time, she shares enough stories about Hyle’s supposedly well-intentioned antics to have Jaime in stitches despite the niggling irritation he still feels regarding the man who called him _pretentious_. That all fades away with Brienne’s last message, however.

 **Brienne Tarth:** I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I like you much more than I ever cared for him.

When he finally goes to bed hours later, he does so with her last text still open on his phone and a broad smile on his face.

 **IV** : 

He’s been seeing Brienne for several months now—if talking to her for twenty minutes every morning when she comes in to get coffee and incessantly texting her for the rest of the day counts as seeing someone. Cleos still tentatively raises his concerns about the ethics of hitting on customers once Brienne leaves, but Jaime’s learned to ignore his over-anxious cousin by now, and so he pays it no mind.

Today’s particularly slow—it’s a holiday weekend, so many of the offices that bring in most of his customers are closed—and Jaime’s never known 7:54 to take so long to arrive in his life as he lingers at the till, watching Cleos wipe down tables and idly wondering if he can leave his cousin to take care of things alone once Brienne’s come and gone. He won’t, of course, or else he’d be a terrible employer deserving of his cousin’s constant irritation, but he’s so _bored_.

He doesn’t exactly scramble to stand upright when Brienne finally, _finally_ walks in, but it’s a near enough thing that even oblivious Cleos sends him a pointed look before returning to his task. She visibly brightens upon seeing him, though, so it all balances out.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless for reasons he can’t quite put into words. “The usual?”

“That’d be great, thank you,” she responds, one hand reaching for her wallet, but he waves her off before she can grab it.

“It’s on the house,” he tells her with a fond smile curling his lips and probably making him look like a smitten idiot. “Don’t worry about it.”

She’s stopped protesting it at this point, which is good. Cleos might disagree, but Jaime’s not fully certain Cleos has ever felt an emotion other than vague worry in his life, so it’s not like he could understand _why_ Jaime’s so insistent that Brienne doesn’t pay for her drinks anymore. Besides, they do pretty well for themselves here. One person not paying for their drinks isn’t going to be a major hit to his business, and he’s got enough money between his inheritance and his earlier investments to not be too worried about it.

“Do you have to go in today?” he asks as he starts up the coffee machine and she takes a seat at the table nearest the pickup counter. “Or has your boss been kind enough to give you the day off along with everyone else in Westeros?”

“ _Almost_ everyone,” she says with a pointed look towards him, and he laughs a little before returning his attention to the task in front of him. “And no, I don’t have to go in, but I’ve gotten too used to your coffee at this point. My coffee maker at home just isn’t the same.”

 _And how about the company?_ he wants to ask, but that’d definitely be too desperate and pathetic, so he keeps his mouth shut. “Well, I’m grateful for the company,” he says instead, and then immediately wants to slap himself for saying that when he _knows_ that’s not why she comes in every day. “Things have been pretty dull around here, with most of our regulars on vacation and only Cleos around to keep me entertained.”

Brienne smiles at him, and he finds himself nearly skipping towards the counter to deliver her drink. “It’d be remiss of me to abandon my favourite cafe owner to boredom on a holiday, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m your favourite?” he blurts out before inwardly cursing himself for sounding so desperate and delighted. The opinions and preferences of one customer shouldn’t matter all that much to him. He’s successfully owned and operated this cafe for going on four years now, and not once in that time has he cared this much about what one of his regulars thinks of him.

“My favourite _owner_ ,” she stresses, smiling a little shyly as she grabs her drink and returns to her seat. “Pia’s still my favourite at this cafe.”

Jaime glances over at Cleos just in time to see his cousin’s face fall. Why he expected to be named anyone’s favourite is beyond Jaime, who has watched enough family drama go down over the years to know full well that the only time anyone seems to remember Cleos exists is when they’re discussing how forgettable he is. Even Aunt Genna has been known to forget about her eldest son every so often—although how someone as dull as Cleos came from someone as interesting as Aunt Genna is beyond Jaime.

“Unfortunately, Pia’s not in today, so you’re gonna have to settle for me,” he says, leaning over the counter so it’s easier to make eye contact. “Although I do hate to disappoint my second-favourite customer.”

Brienne laughs at him over a sip of her coffee, shaking her head with a fond smile. “You’re ridiculous. I highly doubt you spend nearly as much time pestering the rest of your customers as you do with me. Although I’m not sure, you could also have a remarkably active social life considering I know for a fact you spent last weekend marathoning three straight seasons of a stupid reality show and sending me recaps.”

“It was _really_ stupid,” he grumbles, ignoring Cleos’s pointed cough as his cousin hurries back behind the counter to prepare for the unlikely eventuality of another customer walking in. “I don’t know why I watched it.”

“Well, you did, and now you have to live with the knowledge of whatever went down on it,” she tells him, offering another grin between sips of coffee. “Though you _did_ inflict all that knowledge on me, which wasn’t what I’d planned on learning that weekend at all.”

The conversation continues in that vein for what seems to be only a few minutes, albeit minutes filled with laughter and the easy chatter that can only be brought on by a genuine connection between two people—not that Jaime’s paying attention to that, of course. But then Brienne glances up at the clock and her eyes go wide, and he follows her gaze to see a whole hour has passed by while they’ve been here, talking over the counter while Cleos sends Jaime increasingly annoyed looks from where he’s polishing all the machines until they shine.

“How did that happen?” Brienne asks, finishing the last sip of her now-lukewarm coffee before rising to her feet and smiling at him again. “I promised Sansa I’d meet her and Margaery in twenty minutes, and I’m gonna be late if I don’t leave now. It was nice talking to you, though. Enjoy the rest of your day!”

It’d _definitely_ be pathetic to say _I won’t enjoy it as much as I did when you were here,_ so he just waves as she grabs her bag and hurries out the door. It’s the truth—seeing Brienne is _always_ the best part of his mornings by far—but it’s also not the sort of thing you say to someone you’re still little more than an acquaintance to, and he’d rather not scare her off before they truly become friends.

“An _hour_ , Jaime?”

He whirls around at his cousin’s words and offers a weak grin when Cleos glares at him with a ferocity he didn’t know his cousin possessed. “You know, Cleos, you should live a little. Being this uptight all the time can’t possibly be good for your health.”

“ _You_ can’t be good for my health,” Cleos grumbles, turning away and flouncing into the back room without a backwards glance. “Next time, don’t spend an hour talking to your girlfriend over the counter when you’re supposed to be working.”

He’s tempted to yell _she’s not my girlfriend_ as a parting shot, but Cleos has already disappeared into the back, and he’d _like_ for Brienne to be his girlfriend so his cousin really isn’t that far off. Besides, that was an hour well spent, and he has no regrets about it whatsoever as he returns to his work behind the counter, whistling all the while and eagerly counting the hours until his shift is over and he can spend the rest of the evening talking to Brienne without any interruptions from irritable cousins or customers in desperate need of something to parch their thirst. 

**V** : 

It’s pouring rain when Jaime arrives in Harrenhal, and he mutters a curse under his breath before darting into the Bear Pit Hotel as quickly as possible to avoid getting drenched. Two nights stuck in the dreariest part of the Riverlands is not at all how he’d hoped to spend the first weekend off he’s had in moons, but there’s been a mixup with his latest shipment of coffee beans, and the suppliers made it very clear that they’re only willing to meet with him here, at this time, to discuss it.

And, because it’s the Boltons and they take vindictive pleasure in stabbing their clients in the back, it turns out they’re not even going to be showing up due to what the secretary Jaime speaks to on the phone gleefully calls an ‘administrative error’ before hanging up without so much as a goodbye. Which means not only has he left cousin Cleos in charge of the cafe for the next two days, but there’s not even a valid reason for him to have done so.

He’s definitely going to have to change suppliers after this. The Boltons have been too unreliable, and abandoning him here in Harrenhal is the final straw.

Before he can begin drafting a strongly-worded email to Roose Bolton telling him he’s no longer going to be ordering coffee beans through his company, the sound of raised voices from the lobby catches his attention. Or rather, the sound of one particular voice, one he knows very well by now after months of listening to it over the counter of the cafe in the lull between the early morning rush and the lunchtime crowds. 

He doesn’t know why Brienne’s in Harrenhal, or why she’s arguing with someone in the lobby of the hotel loudly enough that he can hear from near the end of the hallway, but he can find out soon enough. As he wanders down the hall and into the lobby, pretending to study a tapestry rather vividly depicting some poor soul getting torn apart by a bear, he sees Brienne standing at the counter, her face flushed as she gestures passionately in the vague direction of the bored-looking concierge.

“Are you sure?” he hears Brienne demand, for what can’t be the first time based on the frustrated set to her jaw and the redness on her cheeks. “I _know_ I booked a room for this weekend. I have the confirmation email and everything.”

The concierge shrugs and points at her screen. “Well, we don’t have you on the list. And there’s no rooms available right now, so you’re gonna have to find somewhere else to stay.”

Brienne shakes her head and huffs out a breath, but turns away without another word. He’s on the verge of going over and asking what’s happened when her eyes widen and she hurries over to him, her lips curving up ever so slightly.

“Jaime!” she says, the irritation bleeding out of her voice as he turns and smiles at her. “I didn’t know you were going to be in Harrenhal as well!”

“Yeah, I was supposed to meet with my suppliers to deal with an incorrect shipment,” he explains, “but they decided at the last minute that they didn’t want to come, and so I’m now on an unexpected vacation for a day or two.”

She frowns at that, shaking her head. “Ugh, that sounds annoying. I had to drive Sansa back to her family up in Winterfell because her car broke down, and I was hoping to stay here on the way back, but something went wrong with my booking so I guess I’ll have to find somewhere else to stay in town for a night or two.”

The idea sits wrong with Jaime, who can’t envision Brienne being comfortable in any of the dingy motels that are the only other accomodation in the town. She won’t complain about it because that’s not who she is, but there’s no need for her to be uncomfortable when he can think of another, much better solution to her problem.

“I think my room has a sofa bed in it, if you’d rather not try your luck out in the rain,” he blurts out before he can think better of it. “You don’t have to, but it’s an option.”

She looks tense for all of a minute before something eases in her shoulders and she nods, a slight smile curving her lips upwards. “No, that sounds good. Thank you. I really didn’t want to go back out there without knowing if I’d be able to find somewhere to stay.”

“I didn’t think you would,” he agrees, beckoning for her to follow him down the hall to the rattly elevator that’ll take them upstairs. She picks up her bag and trails after him, and they walk in comfortable silence until they finally reach his room—which is odd for him, because he’s been told by almost everyone he’s ever met that he never stops talking. 

But Brienne seems destined to bring out new things in him, and he doesn’t mind the silence with her nearly as much as he does with his family, or at the cafe, or with his friends. He doesn’t feel the pressing need to chatter the entire way down the hall—though he wants to, just to see if he can make her blush again, or make her laugh or smile or...gods, he’s pathetic.

He hasn’t been to his room yet due to his phone call with Roose Bolton, so he’s startled by what he sees when he opens the door and ushers Brienne in. It’s not that the room is bad—it’s _fine_ , at least for a run-down hotel when judged by normal person standards, which are very different from the Lannister standards he was raised on and still falls back to more often than not—but it’s just...disappointing, and nothing more so than the sofa.

Even Brienne, who he doubts has ever complained about anything in her life before, looks doubtful as she puts her bag down in the corner. “I don’t want to bother the concierge again,” she says quietly, “but I don’t know how much I trust the cleanliness of that couch.”

Her reservations are fair ones. The room itself may be fine, but the sofa clearly hasn’t been cleaned since the last guests left, and maybe even the ones before that, and he’d rather not subject anyone to the uncertainty of whatever those giant stains on it might be—well, he’s still annoyed with Roose Bolton, so maybe him. He actually _likes_ Brienne, though, which means that’s not much of an option.

“We can share the bed,” he offers, and he’s _definitely_ not going to think about what that might lead to, not at all. “I don’t mind making space for a friend. Besides, it’s just one night.”

He doesn’t say anything stupid like _it won’t be that hard_ because it will be for him, lying next to Brienne and fighting his own urge to touch her, kiss her, glide his fingers up and down her body until she’s incoherent with pleasure... _alright Lannister, that’s enough of that_. It’s probably the only time in his life he’s managed to refrain from voicing his thoughts aloud, which is a remarkable feat since his mind is now screaming about Brienne, being in bed with Brienne, being _inside_ Brienne…

His mind is a real bastard, sometimes.

“That’s fine,” Brienne replies, jolting him out of his thoughts. She ducks away from his gaze as she hurries over to grab her bag and disappears into the bathroom. For a moment there’s the pang of _she’s avoiding me_ , but all this is highly unexpected and enough to make _him_ want to scuttle into the corner and hide. They’ve become something like friends over the last few months, but that doesn’t mean either of them are prepared to be spending a night in the same bed, in this run-down hotel in the middle of Harrenhal while the rain thunders down outside.

He takes the opportunity to change into something more comfortable—it’s late enough in the evening that he’s already eaten, and dealing with the Boltons all afternoon has exhausted him—and is sitting on the side of the bed scrolling through emails when Brienne finally emerges from the bathroom, dressed in sweatpants and a soft white tee that he has a very strong desire to nuzzle his face into.

“I hope you don’t mind going to bed early,” he says when she glances at him with a frown before her eyes dart away again. “But I’m exhausted, and if you drove down from Winterfell then I doubt you’re any more awake than I am.”

“Definitely not,” she agrees with a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sigh. “It’s been a long day.”

They settle into an uncomfortable silence as they climb into bed, carefully keeping their gazes fixed on different points in the room. When Jaime chances a look over in Brienne’s direction, he sees she’s settled with her back towards him, enough tension in the ridge of her spine that he’s sorely tempted to reach out and soothe her with his touch—although it’s more likely than not that will only serve to agitate her more.

“You know, I’m not gonna bite you,” he says eventually, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. “You don’t have to spend the entire night uncomfortable and afraid of me. I promise I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

For some reason, that makes Brienne tense up even more, and he sighs and prepares to turn away, recognizing the action as a clear hint. He may have wanted to fuck her from the moment he saw her, but he won’t make a move without knowing if she feels the same way, and that looks like a pretty obvious sign that she doesn’t. It hurts a bit, knowing the idea of him touching her is that reprehensible, but he has no intention of making her more uncomfortable and so he’ll keep his mouth shut for what may be the first time ever. 

“That’s not the problem,” she says suddenly, and he freezes in place, terrified to look over and see what he might find on her face. “I want you to touch me _too_ much. More than you’ll ever want to touch me.”

His mouth manages to move quicker than his brain, which is still scrambling to process what Brienne’s just confessed. She _wants_ him? Has she wanted this the whole time, too? “I don’t think that’s as much a problem as you think it is,” he hears himself say, his voice sounding distant and not at all like his own. “Considering I’ve wanted the same from the instant you walked into my cafe, I’d say it’s not a problem at all.”

He’s still staring up at the ceiling, but he feels the mattress shift beneath him as Brienne moves, presumably to gape at him. “Jaime…”

“I’m not joking, in case you were wondering,” he blurts out before he can talk himself out of it. “And we don’t have to do anything about this right away, not if you’re not ready for it. But…when we get back to King’s Landing, I’d like to…I’d like to see how things go, I guess? It’d be nice to go on a date outside of the cafe, see more of the city together or something like that.”

Brienne pauses for a long moment, and he’s on the verge of adding something else to reassure her when she says, sounding shocked by her own boldness, “Or we could do something about it right now.”

It’s his turn to roll onto his side and gape at her. They’ve somehow managed to shift closer together when he wasn’t paying attention, which means their faces are mere inches apart, their noses brushing against each other. “Sorry, what?”

She flushes bright red but fixes her gaze on his and doesn’t look away. “We’re already sharing a bed. It’s private, and it’s not like either of us have anywhere else to be. Besides, if we both want this, then why bother waiting? Unless you’re worried about your performance?”

He surges forward and kisses her hard and deep before she can say anything else. She gasps against his mouth before pressing up into him, her arms rising to wrap around his neck and draw him closer as he rolls them over until he’s lying on top of her, the lengths of their bodies pressed together as their tongues tangle together in the heat of their mouths.

When he draws back, it’s only far enough so he can breathe again and stare down at Brienne as she runs her hands up and down his back in slow, deliberate movements, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. “Is that enough proof that my performance is just fine?” he asks, shifting forward to murmur the words in her ear and watching delightedly as she shivers beneath him.

“I don’t know,” she breathes, her hands gliding up to cradle the back of his neck and pull him down again until their foreheads are pressed together and their lips are inches away from touching. “I might need more data to be able to properly assess it.”

“This isn’t a fucking quarterly report, Tarth,” he grumbles before leaning down to kiss her again and revelling in the feeling of her shaking with laughter against him. Her lips are red and swollen once he pulls away, and the sight is enough to have him moving back in again, and again, and again, pressing his mouth to hers and letting his hands wander down her body until they’re toying with the bottom of her shirt. Her own hands continue roving all over his body, one tangling in his hair while the other crawls under his shirt to rest against the bare skin of his back.

“Shit,” she mumbles when they finally pull apart, and he huffs out a laugh against her cheek as he buries his head in the crook of her neck. “I...you don’t happen to have condoms, do you?”

“Gimme a sec,” he groans, reluctantly peeling himself away to go dig through his bag. “Cleos shoved a box at me before I left and told me to have some good sex while in Harrenhal so I’d stop mooning over you and actually do my job. Never thought I’d say this, but thank the gods for cousin Cleos.”

Brienne pushes herself up on one arm as he turns back to the bed and he freezes for a moment, staring amazed at her tousled blonde hair and flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. She’s _here_ , with him, and they may be sharing a bed in an only marginally decent hotel in the dreariest part of the Riverlands, but he fully intends to make the most of it.

He tosses the box onto the bedside table and climbs back onto the bed so he can kiss Brienne, smiling against her lips when she reaches down to tug at the bottom of his shirt and pull it upwards. They part for a moment, just long enough that she can lift it over his head and toss it onto the floor, and then her hands seize his shoulders and yank him back in for a bruising kiss, her teeth nipping his lip and one of her palms settling on his chest.

“I take it you like what you see,” he mumbles once they part, a little breathlessly, and she smacks him in the chest even as her eyes dart down to the clearly visible bulge in his pants.

“Shut up,” she says, her lips curving into a smile, and he’s moving to kiss the expression off her lips before he can think any about the action. It’s his turn to tug her shirt upwards, and she arches up off the pillow to help him pull it over her head before she falls back, gazing up at him with clear blue eyes and a question in her arched eyebrow.

“You like what _you_ see?” she asks cheekily after a moment, and he’d offer some witty retort if he weren’t too busy staring at her, bare from the waist up, her breasts rising and falling as she breathes deeply. He lets his hand fall to rest on the hard muscle of her stomach, then shifts it again to press it to the subtle curve of her hip, the swell of her breast, the smooth skin of her cheek.

“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “Yeah, I do.”

She stills beneath him, her eyes going wide, and then they’re kissing again, and he has no idea which one of them moved first—maybe it was both, they’re both so eager for this—but their tongues are soon dancing together in the warm space where their mouths meet, and his hand creeps down her body until it slides beneath the waistband of her sweatpants and fumbles for the wet heat of her. When his first finger slips inside, she jolts against him before sighing into his mouth, and he allows himself a small smile before beginning to stroke gently, drawing back at last to watch as she writhes beneath his touch, gasping and eager, her hands stretching up and swatting in the general direction of his face before he laughs and lets her pull him in so they can kiss again, and again, and again.

He slowly works her before slipping a second finger in, though he stills for a moment when she begins to tug his pants down, her hand faltering as she reaches for his hard length. She glances up at him from beneath half-lowered eyelids, and he offers her a soft smile, pressing his lips to her cheek for a moment before his fingers twist inside her and she gasps again, her restraint fading away in that moment as her hand closes around him and he bucks into her grasp, a choked-off gasp emerging from his mouth.

He retaliates by slowly letting a third finger enter her and smirking as she falls back against the pillow. “You satisfied with my performance now?” he asks, because his mouth doesn’t seem to want to stop moving even though her warm hand is wrapped around him and he’s got three fingers in her and this is officially the best work trip he’s _ever_ had.

“Shut up,” she grumbles again, but this time she tightens her grip at the same time and he goes stiff, his hand stilling against her as he frantically tries to regain control of himself. 

For a moment she looks uncertain again, and he leans forward to kiss her again before nodding towards the box on the table beside her, his hands too busy tugging at her pants to bother getting a condom himself. He’s briefly disappointed when she releases him to yank open the box and pull out the foil packet, but then he gets her pants off and she’s naked before him and he’s too busy staring at her incredibly long legs and the wet curls of hair between her legs and he’s struck by a powerful urge to bury his face in her and show her _precisely_ how well he can perform…

 _Next time_ , he promises himself—because there _will_ be a next time, he won’t let it be any different and he doubts Brienne wants this to be a one-time-only thing—because she’s got the condom packet open and is reaching for him, pausing to glance up at his face. Whatever she reads there seems to calm her, and she nods before rolling it over his now-painfully hard cock and smiling ever so slightly when he gasps out her name in another choked breath, his hand rising to cup her cheek as he shifts to position himself between her legs and she draws her hand up to run it through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You sure?” he whispers after she tugs at him when he hesitates. “This is your last chance to back out.”

“I’m sure, Jaime,” she says, a smile spreading across her face and lighting up the darkest corners of the room with her joy. “I want this. I want you.”

“Then we’re on the same page,” he murmurs, before pressing forward and carefully guiding himself inside her, and they groan in unison as he slowly moves deeper.

“ _Brienne_ ,” he moans once he’s fully within her, still for only a minute before the tight heat of her is too much to bear and he _has_ to move or this’ll end far too anticlimactically for his liking. “Gods, Brienne, you feel so good.”

“Jaime,” she whispers, and it turns into a moan as he begins to move inside her, her hands splaying across his back and pulling him in, closer and closer until there’s nothing between them but sweat and murmured words, and the sound of skin against skin fills the room, and there’s a warmth that begins in his chest and spreads throughout the rest of his body and he’s soon reaching down to rub over the sensitive place between her legs to set her gasping again, desperate to see her to her pleasure before he reaches his.

Then her back arches, and she tightens around him, and she comes with his name on her tongue and her eyes fluttering closed, and he thrusts once, twice, three more times before the warmth spills over and he’s moaning her name over and over as he collapses against her, his face pressed against the soft skin of her neck.

They lie like that for a long moment, their chests heaving almost in unison as they catch their breath, until he finally pulls out of her in another set of careful movements and flops on his back next to her, a stupidly wide grin on his face. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a work trip quite this much,” he says eventually, and he’s pressed close enough to Brienne’s side to _feel_ her groan as it rumbles through her chest and out into the air.

“You’re impossible,” she says with a fond smile, before slowly sitting up and reaching out a hand to pull him up as well. “Come on. We need to clean up, and I want to see if there’s another set of sheets so we don’t end up sleeping on sticky sheets for the rest of the night.”

“Who says we need to sleep?” he asks with what he’s well aware is a shit-eating grin, and she hits him in the chest again as he pulls the condom off and follows her into the bathroom. It’s a foolish question—they’re both already tired, and they have to drive back to King’s Landing tomorrow, but he wouldn’t mind the exhaustion if it meant he could spend the entire night doing that all over again.

She shakes her head and doesn’t bother responding. Instead, she turns around and kisses him, and they melt into each other as they stand in the bathroom together, sated and content at long last.

 **+1** : 

The cafe’s always quiet in late evening, and so few people come in past a certain hour that Jaime’s gotten into the habit of doing administrative work at a table instead of standing alone and awkward behind the till—not to insinuate that he’s ever once looked awkward in his life, of course he hasn’t. But it does get dull, just standing and waiting for the handful of late-night customers who do come in, and there’s enough work that goes into keeping the cafe running to keep him occupied.

Plus, if he does that work now, it won’t bleed into the time he can spend with Brienne. And he’s all for spending as much time with Brienne as he can, even though they’ve been together for several moons and by all rights should be craving time apart by now.

Or at least, that’s what Cersei said should happen, the last time he spoke to her. But there’s a reason he doesn’t talk to his sister much, and it’s largely because most of what she says has to be taken with a heaping spoonful of salt.

He’s buried in a thick stack of bills, privately wondering for the thousandth time if he should hire some poor fool to take care of all the financial nonsense for him, when the door swings open and he glances up, about to greet this surprise customer—only a handful of people come in at this hour, and they come in so consistently that he could predict their arrival down to the second—when he realizes it’s Brienne who’s just entered, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she walks over to where he’s sitting and drops into the chair opposite him.

“Hey,” he says, half-rising to go greet her properly, but she raises a hand and nods towards his chair, and he sits back down, one eyebrow raising at her unexpected gesture. “What brings you here so late?”

Brienne still comes in every morning at the same time, and he still unnerves hapless cousin Cleos by spending as much time as possible flirting with her over the counter. She tends to work later on the nights he takes the closing shift, however, so it’s unusual for her to be here so late, when she’s already had a full day of work and would much prefer going home to relax instead of hanging around the cafe for another hour or so.

“Am I not allowed to come visit you at work now?” she asks, but she’s smiling as he reaches across the table to take her hand in his. 

“Considering you come in every morning, no,” he tells her, and she squeezes his hand before letting him get back to his bills for a few minutes. If Cleos were here, he’d say something about the bills being _easier to balance if you stopped giving your girlfriend free coffee_ , but Cleos isn’t here to say so, and it’s not like he can stop Jaime from doing it even when he _is_ present. Besides, what’s the point of owning his own coffee house if he _can’t_ give his girlfriend free coffee? 

“How much longer do you think this is gonna take you?” Brienne asks eventually, glancing down at the scattered papers in front of him.

“I don’t know? Probably another hour at least, if I keep at it. Less if I finally hire someone to take care of this shit for me like I keep threatening to do.”

She nods thoughtfully, a smile he would tentatively describe as sly curling her lips. “None of this is especially urgent, is it?”

It’s his turn to study the bills he’s spread across the table, before he slowly shakes his head. He _does_ want to get ahead on the financial stuff before it all piles up and becomes an unruly mess that’ll be giving him headaches by the end of the month, but it doesn’t need to get done right away, and his disdain for finance in general is strong enough that he’ll probably have hired an accountant by the end of the week anyways. “Nothing I can think of. Why’d you ask?”

“Well, I was thinking,” she begins, and now she’s _definitely_ smirking at him, which is a sure sign they’ve been spending far too much time together. Not that he’d change that, though. “If you don’t have anything urgent keeping you at work, then why stay?”

He opens his mouth, about to make some stupid comment about future customers—there won’t be any, it’s less than an hour before closing and _no one_ comes in during the last hour they’re open—but she forestalls him with a raised hand before he can do so. “And don’t say it’s for the customers, because you always complain about how boring this part of the closing shift is.”

“You make a good point,” he manages, still awed that she’s even _suggesting_ this. She’s not the sort of person to evade her duty to her company or her clients, and he never once thought she’d ask him to do so himself.

To be fair, there really is nothing going on at the end of the closing shift. It’s not like he’d be losing business by saying yes to Brienne. And he’s even worse at resisting the allure of her blue eyes now that they’re actually together, so it’s really no contest in his mind.

“What do you have in mind for us if I agree?” he asks, because he has standards to uphold, and he can’t just instantly agree to everything Brienne asks him to do. He’d never be allowed to refuse her again if that were the case. Though that would imply he has much desire to refuse her in the first place, which he doesn’t.

She leans back in her seat and grins at him with an expression that clearly states she already knows she’s won this round. “That depends,” she tells him, letting her voice drop down an octave in the way she _knows_ goes straight to his cock, _damn her_. “There’s a new restaurant nearby I was hoping to try out, or we could just go back to yours and order takeout later.”

As she says the last part, she leans forward, her hand dropping to his knee and beginning to climb up his thigh. When he locks his gaze on hers, sitting stiff and tense in his seat, she gives him an all-too-innocent smile, only emphasizing the fact that she knows _exactly_ what she’s doing to him.

“Home and takeout sounds great,” he manages, his voice strangled and higher-pitched than he’d meant it to be. “Just...just let me lock up and then we’ll go.”

She arches an eyebrow but nods and removes her hand, grinning again as he shoots to his feet and hurries to the back office to grab his keys. “Sounds like a plan,” she calls after him, and he spins around to send her an obscene gesture while she laughs at him, her voice warm and fond.

He’s grinning like a fool as he heads into the back, locking the doors and shutting off the lights before he ventures out to rejoin Brienne. He definitely won’t be getting his bills done tonight, but that’s not really a problem.

Not when it means he can spend that time with Brienne instead, as the best time is always spent. 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts/vibes this (hopefully) fulfills:
> 
> there is only one bed  
> modern aus  
> fluff with a dash of smut.
> 
> actually this was a great fic because it allowed me to finally write part of my headcanon that jaime has the same flirting abilities as usnavi from in the heights (this is not a reference you need to know to understand the fic, I'm just being esoteric again). 
> 
> sansa and Margaery definitely came in to check jaime out after brienne told them about the really hot barista she met at her favourite coffee shop. they also definitely teased her mercilessly after they left and found out jaime had written his number on Brienne's coffee.
> 
> alas, poor Cleos is never spared from his cousin's antics. he does get promoted to manager eventually, which makes him feel a little better about all the time he had to spend watching jaime flirt (badly, in his opinion) over the counter with Brienne.


End file.
